It has been very difficult for me to put the thoughts and feelings I have had the last 3 months into words. But, here I will try...
The days leading up to April 11 were somewhat normal. Exercise. Coffee. Work. Home. Repeat.
When the call came that we had been chosen nothing was normal any longer and I could not be certain of anything either. I was so happy and so scared all at the same time. On April 14th at 1pm the most perfect gift was put in my arms and everything changed. My joy was magnified as was my fear and anxiety.
We had been chosen by a birth mother to parent the child she had given birth to. No longer would we receive birth mother summaries. No longer would we have to wait for the child the Lord had chosen for us before time began. No longer would we have to shrug and answer the "When" questions with "I don't know".
You see, I am methodical. I enjoy the steps to get to the final project. Yard work is one of my favorite things even though our yard does not look like it has been touched in weeks (it hasn't). The process is what brings me joy. There will always be growing grass that needs to be cut and weeds that need to be weed-eated. It is the knowledge that I am needed and the satisfaction of supplying the answer to that current need that brings me joy and purpose. At the end of the day my grass may look beautifully cut and edges done but the bushes are 5 feet high falling over from the previous day's rain storm but I am full of pride at the completion of step one. Now, bring on step two...tomorrow or the next day.
Our adoption journey to our HWD has been just that, steps to be mulled over and prayed over and cried over. Each set of paperwork or social worker visit or birth mother summary was just another step to get to the finale. Those tiny steps were my fuel to continue and celebrate.
Now, it is over. Yesterday as we drove to the courthouse for our finalization my heart hurt. There would not be another step. There would not be another milestone to celebrate. The process would be completed. I would have ripped up all the grass and laid sod to never cut again.
I began to mourn when we had our first post placement visit with our amazing social worker. It was then that I realized just how devastated I was. This process had consumed me and my family. How was I to just be done? What do I do now?
Life with HWD was wonderful. We snuggled. We laughed. We pooped our pants. We napped together. A bond formed quickly and today when he hears my voice he turns to look for me. Yet, I found myself feeling empty. I found myself upset and sad and lonely. I felt even more broken than when Derek and I had those difficult conversations about infertility.
What was wrong with me? I was surrounded by everything I had ever dreamed and prayed for and yet I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't form answers to simple questions. I cried and slept and ate and loved on HWD. Derek and I fought over the stupid and mundane things all because my feelings were hurt and I saw everything from the fogged lenses of depressed eyes. The worst of all my fears was that if anyone knew my precious baby boy would be taken away from me because I am not his biological mother. I was not yet legally his forever mommy. No one could know. No one would know. I could put on a happy face at church and weekly family dinners. As long as I contained my tears to the car and home I would be fine.
A sweet friend and fellow adoptive mom said to me days after we were chosen and life as a mother was so fresh to begin mourning the process. That sounds like such a strange thing to do. Why would I not just be so overjoyed and elated with my new child? Wouldn't my world be consumed with happiness and thankfulness because it is finally over and this baby is in my arms?
I have been through many challenges in my 30 years. I have suffered through self hurt, depression, anxiety, nightmares, and indescribable betrayal and loss. For many years I worked diligently with the best counselor in the world to acknowledge those things and be able to cope with them when they showed their evil heads. I can honestly say that post placement depression is real and one of the hardest to admit and work through.
I thought that just because I was adopting I would be immune to the postpartum depression so many women suffer through. I was wrong.
Even as I type this, "It Is Well" by Bethel Music & Kristene Dimarco plays in the background reminding me that the same God who wrote the path of adoption into my life long before I was created is also the same God who holds my hand as I cry and heals my broken soul.
Through it all my eyes are on you. Through it all, through it all, it is well.
Fellow sufferers, you are not alone. Do not be ashamed, as I was. Cry out to the Creator of all things and lean on him for as Matthew tells us, His yoke is easy and his burden is light.
